Enthusiasm
by shotabooty
Summary: "He wakes up like a sunrise, slow and beautiful." Rated M for, like, one sentence.


**a/n: **another kink meme fill for another rarepair because wow gosh i thought these two would be so cute together. its nothing close to what i had intended but i suppose itll do.

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There's something to be said about enthusiasm, and that something is that it's something Spain never lacks. He's bursting with it, letting it seep from every pore, so deep and passionate about everything he throws himself into. Never once does he hold back with anything, or try and dull himself down. A bright, brilliant light that never goes out no matter the hardships, as if the Spanish sun itself had settled inside him and pours from him with every word, every action. He wakes up like a sunrise, slow and beautiful. The soft flutter of eyelids, the slight shifting of his body, the lazy yawns and murmured words that convey pinks into oranges into blues.

Finland wakes up like a rain storm. Heavy, dark, and damp. The Spanish heat was uncomfortable more often than not, even with the thinner sheets that covered them and the lack of clothes. He was never a morning person, but Spain waking up beside him makes them a little more bearable. A kiss is stolen, but nothing more, because sweet as kisses may be he's too irritated and prone to grumpiness at such an early hour. Spain is, usually, too sleepy to protest as Finland gets up to leave, still caught in the haze of his pinks and oranges. Leaving him almost seems a crime, but not getting his coffee would be an even bigger crime.

By the time Spain comes ambling down the stairs Finland isn't so prone to falling into old viking tendencies. He greets Spain with a warm smile and a coffee flavored kiss which mingles uncomfortably to the taste of minty toothpaste. Spain likes his coffee stronger, but he likes his alcohol weaker and Finland supposes that evens it out. They sit in companionable silence as they chase away their morning haze, but the silence never lasts for long as something always captures one of their attention.

"It's such a lovely day," Spain starts, his ever present smile still dreamy and far away. "Such a day would be wasted cooped up in the house, don't you think? And you've not seen nearly enough of what Spain has to offer." Finland hums and nods his agreement, because he's still groggy himself and finding a voice that don't crack or grind usually only comes after his second cup of coffee. More silence as they both think it over. It's warm outside, but Finland figures he'll just wear shorts. He eyes the Spaniard from across the table, tracing over the laugh lines at the edges of his eyes, the bob of his Adam's apple as he sips his drink. When he catches Finland staring he only grins wider.

"I don't think I'll ever see all of what Spain has to offer," Finland speaks up finally, smiling a bit himself, "With how there's always something new going on or some place you forgot to mention." Someone else might have taken it the wrong way, been insulted or off put, but not Spain. He just laughs and the sound rings through the halls, because it's true. There's always something he's failed to mention, an upcoming event he knows Finland will enjoy, too many things to squeeze into their short visits.

In the end they don't do anything exciting. They stay in town, enjoy a morning full of wandering from store to store with no true destination in mind. Finland enjoys looking at the architecture and sampling the food. Spain leads in their conversations and Finland enjoys that too. He doesn't mind the easy flow of words, but there's no pressure behind it, he can fall into a quiet spell and not feel uncomfortable. Besides, he likes hearing Spain talk. His voice always so bouncy and charming, carefree beyond all reason. Spain buys an acoustic guitar even though he's already got three back at home because he wants to play it at the fountain they've chosen to stop at. Finland tells him how unnecessary it is, but he can't resist the music, and if his Spanish wasn't so terrible he'd sing along. People gather, laugh and dance, and Finland's chest tightens at how bright Spain is. How happy he is. How happy everyone is. It's hard to wait for him to finish before kissing him, but Finland manages.

Afterwords he casually mentions his interest in a bar, because it's beginning to get dark, and he hasn't had a drink for a few days. Spain, never one to turn down a request, leads them to the nearest one where Finland partakes in drinking games and wins. Everyone marvels at what a heavy weight the Finnish man is in regards to alcohol, out drinking most everyone there. Spain only has one drink and Finland playfully teases him through slurring words over it, but he's never seen Spain drunk and remains oblivious to the positives of that fact. In the end they're all laughing and cheering and Finland can't really remember what they're cheering about. He can't remember leaving, either, and he only vaguely recalls singing in slaughtered Spanish alongside Spain as his inebriated ass is dragged back to the house.

Somewhere between the doorstep and the threshold he decides it's a good idea to pull Spain into a kiss. It's messy and nothing close to Finland's usual, calculated gestures, but Spain finds it endearing how much he lets himself go when drunk. They tumble through the house pawing at pesky clothes and Finland succumbs to whining, pushy and needy with the glow of alcohol against his cheeks. Spain happily indulges him in sloppy frottage where Finland finishes too quickly, makes a joke about it, and promptly passes out afterwords.

When morning comes it's not really morning, but muted afternoon. The curtains are drawn tight, heavy and a rich red color that bathes the room with thick, unobtrusive light. It's still a little hard on his eyes as they crack open, but not like his usual morning there. Spain likes to keep the curtains open, feel the first glimmer of morning light against his tanned skin, but he closed them considering Finland's impending hangover. He makes some loud grumble that's supposed to be appreciative and presses his face against the warm skin of Spain's neck, his brightness more inviting than getting up.


End file.
